


Apocalypse Day

by zelda_zee



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-10
Updated: 2010-05-10
Packaged: 2017-10-22 09:10:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/236432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zelda_zee/pseuds/zelda_zee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s not a bad one, as Apocalypse Days go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Apocalypse Day

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Polski available: [Dzień Apokalipsy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3351785) by [LoboBathory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoboBathory/pseuds/LoboBathory)



> This is the fic I wrote for the Secret Angels III Exchange at [](http://deancastiel.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://deancastiel.livejournal.com/)**deancastiel**.

Maybe it shouldn’t come as a surprise that the apocalypse doesn’t go as planned.

As the clouds part and golden light rains down upon the plain of Armageddon, a legion of angels appears, blinding white light nearly obscuring their forms. The earth cracks open and the flames and black smoke of Hell shoot skyward, demons blinking into existence in the space of a heartbeat. Michael and Lucifer stand facing each other on a hill above it all, ready for the Final Battle and wearing their respective Winchester vessels. And then everything just… stops.

Hellfire sputters out and angelic brilliance dims to a manageable level. Demons and angels eye each other warily; maybe a few throw half-hearted punches or snarl menacingly, but most of them just stand there, feeling quietly alarmed at the sudden lack of motivation they’re feeling and waiting for some kind of signal. Some of them try to remember if they locked up before leaving home for the big confrontation; a few find themselves hoping to be done in time for tea; quite a number of them fight the urge to lie down right where they are and take a nice, long nap.

Michael shifts uncomfortably from side to side, avoiding Lucifer’s eyes, which is easy to do as Lucifer is staring over his shoulder, an expression of concentration on his face, as if he’s trying to hear something that’s just out of range. Michael knows for a fact that Lucifer’s hearing is every bit as good as his own, which means that he could hear a pin drop on the other side of this world if he so chose, so Michael focuses his attention and listens too.

And there it is, a rumbling sound, deep and sonorous, like a thousand angels’ voices raised in a battle chant.

“What is it?” Lucifer’s eyes flick to Michael’s.

“Need you ask?” Michael tilts his head, studying his brother.

“Our Father comes,” Lucifer whispers. There’s awe and joy mixed with the fear in his voice, and it hits Michael hard then, how much they all lost when Lucifer fell, how much they all have suffered because of it.

“It has been so long, Brother, that I did not know His voice.” Lucifer's smile is so full of longing that it makes something twist painfully deep in Michael’s being.

“It has been long since I have heard our Father’s voice as well,” Michael says. “Hark! He comes nearer.”

“He will cast me back into Hell,” Lucifer says, sounding panicked. “I can’t go back. Michael, I can’t do it. You’ve gotta do something. _Pleeeease_.” Sam Winchester’s brown eyes well with Lucifer’s tears and Michael can only wonder that the millennia Lucifer spent as the King of the Damned altered him to such an extent that he is actually capable of _crying_.

It makes Michael distinctly uncomfortable. He has never been confronted with a crying angel before – or a crying demon, and certainly not a crying Overlord of the Dark Realms. But Lucifer is his brother, despite all that they have been through, and since he hasn’t slain him yet – nor, in truth, does he feel compelled to do so at the moment – he may as well comfort him.

“There, there,” he says, patting Lucifer awkwardly on the shoulder. “It’ll be okay. I’ll put in a good word for you with Dad.” Michael frowns in consternation. He has never called their Father “Dad” before in all the long eons of his existence. “With _the Lord_ , I mean.”

“Would you, Michael?”

Lucifer looks at him out of wide, sad, appealing eyes, and there’s something about that expression that makes it impossible for Michael to say no. So he says, “Sure thing, little bro. Just leave it to me.” And then he snaps his mouth shut because that is _not_ the way he speaks. He does not even know _how_ to speak like that and this is freaking him out (only he’s an angel and he does not “freak out”; he does not even understand the meaning of the phrase).

There’s a great roiling of clouds and whooshing of wind and a blinding golden light slices through the gloom that has fallen over the land. Michael takes an instinctual step in front of Lucifer, shielding him with his body, as if that would make the slightest difference. Still, he can’t help himself. It’s a compulsion that’s impossible to ignore. Many thousands of years have passed since Michael has felt anything like this need to protect one of his own; probably not since the last time he was in Lucifer’s presence, before his brother pushed too far and sealed his fate. He’d almost forgotten how it had been between them – how he’d tried for so long to protect his brilliant, angry, headstrong little brother until Lucifer’s defiance had grown to unsupportable proportions and Michael had no choice but to cast him out and lock him away.

 _You had a choice_ , a voice whispers from somewhere inside him. _You chose the easy way_.

Lucifer’s hand is on Michael’s shoulder and it pushes him down. They drop to their knees as one and Michael doesn’t think, just reaches out and grasps Lucifer’s jacket, holding on tight and Lucifer does the same. The light brightens unbearably, even to Michael’s eyes, and then God is there, huge and demanding, a vortex of power coiled in on itself that if unleashed could wipe this world out of existence.

“I’m very disappointed in you two,” God says, glaring at Michael and Lucifer from under lowered brows. “Very disappointed in all of you.” His eyes take in the great plain below them, the angels and demons scattered upon it. “Honestly, I can’t leave you alone for a couple of thousand years without coming back to find you’re in the process of tearing each other apart? Not to mention this pretty world with all its adorable little humans. Michael, I expected better from you.”

“I’m sorry, Father,” Michael says meekly, bowing his head.

“Where were you, Father?” Lucifer asks, never one to be cowed by their Father’s magnificence. “You have been needed here for a long time.”

“Pfft. I have other worlds to see to, other universes. You children are supposed to be able to look after yourselves in my absence.” God rests his hands on his hips, tapping his foot, which makes the ground shake alarmingly. He looks out at the scene below, then down at Michael and Lucifer, then up to the heavens. He sighs and the mountains rumble. “Very well. I see your childish maneuverings have brought about an apocalypse. Since we’re too far along to turn back, we shall have to see it through.”

He holds up one giant hand and a bolt of light shoots out from it into the sky until it disappears from sight, then another shoots down into the earth, into the very fissure from which the hellfire spewed, then back into God’s hand, forming a triangle that burns fiery bright. And then God closes his fist and the triangle just… winks out.

“There,” he says, briskly brushing his palms together. “That should do it.”

“Wait – that’s it?” Michael asks, confused.

“What did you want, rivers of blood, plagues of locusts? The _Rapture_?” Michael flinches at the scornful tone in God’s voice. “There will be other apocalypses where we can play those games. For now, I think you two have already caused quite enough trouble.”

“It wasn’t our fault!” Lucifer cries, scrambling to his feet. “It was Lilith’s idea – and – and Azazel –”

“Zachariah,” Michael chimes in, standing beside Lucifer. “Zachariah did the planning and Uriel – Uriel did a lot of the –”

“Silence!” Thunder booms as God’s voice rings out, and everything falls quiet. Lucifer shoots Michael a worried glance and Michael tries to project calming thoughts to him without it being noticed.

“Enough. I am already weary of this. You two,” he points at Michael and Lucifer. “Come with me.”

“But,” Michael says. “The apocalypse – nothing happened.”

“Oh, something happened,” God says, turning to Michael with a sharp smile that does nothing to put Michael’s fears to rest.

“But – everything looks the same.”

“Nevertheless, it is not the same.”

Lucifer is looking out over Armageddon where the legions of demons and angels are watching them, waiting for instructions. “But what about _them_?” he asks. When God looks at him in askance, he gestures toward the plain and God shrugs, uninterested.

“They can do as they like,” God says. His eyes fall on Michael. “I understand you have been having something of a debate about free will. Now you will all get to experience it for yourselves.” He turns his back on the massed forces of good and evil. “Come,” God says, and Michael obeys without thought. Lucifer hesitates a moment, but Michael motions for him to hurry up and so he follows, a bit sulkily.

“And leave those poor Winchesters where you found them,” God says without turning around to see if they are keeping up. “Those boys have had enough trouble in their lives without the two of you wearing them around like a couple of ill-fitting prom dresses.”

  
**One Hour Hence**

“Dean,” a voice says. ”Dean!” Someone is calling him from far away and Dean does nothing but listen for a moment, trying to place that voice – that deep, emphatic voice – and to decide why it sounds so very familiar, when there’s a sudden uncomfortable rush and a stomach-churning falling sensation and he’s back in his body, shocked cold and gasping liked a beached fish. Castiel is holding him by the shoulders, kneeling over him, looking more rumpled than usual and uncharacteristically worried.

“Dean,” he says urgently, when he sees Dean open his eyes. His fingers tighten painfully, digging into Dean’s flesh. “Are you all right?”

Dean just stares at Castiel for a long moment as thoughts circle wildly in his mind, before he settles on one question.

“Did you find him?”

“Yes,” Castiel says, and there’s a light of joy in his eyes. “I did. The apocalypse is over.”

“It is?” Dean looks around, but he’s in a motel room, no evidence of the apocalypse in sight. “Who won?”

“We did,” Castiel says and he smiles. He _smiles_ and it makes Dean’s breath catch in his throat. He never thought he’d see Castiel smile like that, not just a little twitch, but a smile that curves his lips and causes his eyes to crinkle at the corners. It makes Dean think of Castiel’s true form – not that he can see it, just that his smile is beautiful in the way that Dean thinks Castiel’s soul must be.

Dean doesn’t think about it. He doesn’t think at all, or else he surely wouldn’t do it. He doesn’t think about how long he’s wanted to do this or all the times he almost has in the past and stopped himself, he just surges up and kisses Castiel. He’s aware that Castiel freezes and he’s aware of soft, full lips against his and the silky texture of Castiel’s hair under his fingers, and then Castiel makes a soft sound, something surprised, but possibly not unpleasantly so. His lips part hesitantly and Dean kisses him more deeply. Castiel tilts his head just right and they slot together perfectly and it’s so good, Dean doesn’t ever want it to end. He knows that he’s doing something crazy and probably unforgivable, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care because they survived the apocalypse and Castiel found God and Cas is alive and Dean’s alive and Sam’s –

“Wait.” Dean wrenches his mouth away in sudden panic. “Where’s Sam?”

Castiel is watching him out of wide, uncertain eyes, and God, he looks wrecked, mouth flushed and wet, hair mussed, tie askew.

“Sam is fine,” he says, just a hint of unsteadiness in his voice. “He has been restored to himself, just as you have.”

“Where is he?” Dean grabs the lapels of Castiel’s trench coat. “Have you seen him?”

“No, I came directly here. Sam is wherever he was when Lucifer took him.”

“He’s here then.” Dean jumps to his feet, then almost goes down again, but Castiel catches him with a firm hand beneath his elbow.

“Easy, Dean,” he says. “You are still recovering.”

“I gotta – Cas, he’s right here! He was here with me when we –” Dean struggles free from Castiel’s grasp and stumbles woozily to the door, throwing it open. He gets his feet back under him when he spies the crumpled form laying in the middle of the parking lot and sprints over to it, falling to his knees.

“Sam! Sam, oh, Sammy, wake up, c’mon Sam, you’re okay, everything’s gonna be okay now –”

Dean’s patting Sam’s cheeks and giving him little shakes, but he’s not rousing. He checks Sam’s breathing and it seems fine. Sam’s alive, thank God, he’s just not conscious.

“Cas, can you – what’s wrong with him?”

Castiel kneels beside Sam and places a hand on his chest, over his heart.

“I believe he’ll be all right, Dean. He’s just farther under than you were. Let me see if I can –” Castiel places two fingers on Sam’s forehead and Sam twitches once, twice, and then he’s shuddering in a gasping breath, looking around wild-eyed, limbs flailing. He sees Dean and stops, staring at him uncomprehendingly.

“Sam!” Dean cries, throwing his arms around him. “Oh, Sammy, we made it. We made it.” Slowly Sam’s arms lift and his hands latch weakly onto Dean’s jacket, clinging, and they hold onto each other for a long time.

“It’s over, Sam,” Dean says and he’s crying like a baby and he doesn’t give a shit. “We won. Our side won.”

“Our side?” Sam asks. His voice is barely above a whisper, but Dean’s immeasurably relieved that he’s even stringing words together. “We don’t have a side, Dean.”

“Sure we do,” Dean says. “Team Free Will, remember? And you know what the best thing is, Sammy?” Sam shakes his head. Dean grins hugely. He can’t help it. He _loves_ that he gets to tell Sam this. “It turns out that God is on our side, after all.”

  
**One Day Hence**

They’re in the car, headed to Bobby’s, and Castiel is attempting to explain what exactly happened during the apocalypse, only he’s not doing a very good job of it, perhaps because he doesn’t seem to understand it all that much better than Dean and Sam do.

“Mysterious are the ways of Lord,” he intones for the second time, and Dean would be inclined to pop him one, only he’s driving and anyway, he’s already learned how much good that’d do.

“So, you’re saying the Bible got it wrong?” Sam asks, twisting around in his seat so he can see Castiel.

“No. I’m saying that the apocalypse described in the Bible is only one of many possible apocalypses. The apocalypse we experienced is more akin to a revelation.”

“But,” Dean says. “It’s mostly in _Revelation_ that the apocalypse is described.”

“Yes, but the revelation we have just experienced – are still experiencing, to be precise – is not that of _Revelation_. Revelation is an alternate meaning of apocalypse, you know.”

“So we’re experiencing some other kind of revelation right now?” Dean asks doubtfully. “Cuz I gotta tell you, I don’t feel like I’m experiencing a revelation.” He glances in the rear-view mirror. Castiel looks composed and unflappable, sitting straight-backed with his hands folded in his lap. Dean thinks about his mouth, open and soft, about that breathless, overwhelmed noise he made when Dean kissed him.

He drags his mind back to the present to find Castiel’s eyes on him in the mirror. He looks a little shaken and Dean wonders if Castiel was picking up on his thoughts.

He focuses on the road in front of him, on driving, on the conversation, which was about… oh yeah. Revelation.

“Do you feel like you’re experiencing a revelation, Sammy?”

“Not unless revelation involves a headache and nausea,” Sam says. And although it seems likely to Dean that a revelation would indeed be likely to involve nausea and headaches, he doesn’t think that’s why Sam’s feeling under the weather. It’s just that, unlike Dean, who’s feeling no ill effects, Sam’s taking a while to get back to 100%. Apparently, being Lucifer’s meatsuit was a bit more taxing than being Michael’s.

“All I can tell you is that things have changed. There has been a shift in – in reality, if you will,” Castiel says.

“In reality.” Dean whistles. “Sounds like pretty major stuff.”

“I believe it will be, once the nature of the revelation becomes clear.” Cas falls silent for a moment. “I should probably mention that since the apocalypse my powers have been restored.”

“Got the old mojo back, huh? That’s great, Cas.”

“Hey, congratulations, man,” Sam says, beaming at him. “Does that mean you’ll be heading home sometime soon?”

Dean can’t help the startled glance he directs at the rear-view mirror, and he catches Castiel watching him thoughtfully before he looks away.

“It is likely,” Castiel says, speaking carefully. “I await a summons.”

He sounds subdued, but Dean can’t tell what to make of it, whether Cas would be reluctant to go or if he’s just concerned about hurting their feelings. There’s no doubt how Dean feels; Castiel’s words sit like heavy stones in his stomach. He’s always known Castiel would leave at some point. He shouldn’t begrudge him that. Castiel has a home and a family to return to. Dean should just be grateful that Castiel survived the apocalypse so that it’s even possible for him to leave; for a while there the prospect of any of them making it out alive had been close to unimaginable.

Still, anticipating that departure fills Dean with dread, causing him to sit silently while Sam and Castiel speculate on what form this supposed revelation will take. Dean alternates between berating himself for having become so attached to someone he knew would leave (everyone always leaves), assuring himself that he’ll get along fine without Castiel (he got along fine before him, after all) and telling himself that he should be happy that they saved the world, and leave it at that. He definitely does not think about the pain twisting itself into knots inside him and the way he keeps having to swallow around a lump in his throat.

It's after two in the morning by the time they reach Bobby’s. They're relieved to find the place untouched and Bobby as well as can be expected; cranky at having had to sit out the apocalypse, not to mention being rousted out of bed in the wee hours to let them in.

“What the hell you two idjits were thinking, saying ‘yes’, I’ll never understand,” he says, glaring at Sam and Dean in turn.

“We had a plan,” Sam assures him.

“I find that hard to believe,” Bobby scoffs.

“We did,” Dean insists, then when Bobby spears him with his razor-sharp gaze, he shrugs. “It wasn’t a very good one, but it was the best we could do.”

Bobby gives them an assessing look, and apparently they come up short, because he sighs and says, “You know what? I don’t even think I want to know. You’re here, you’re safe, by some freakin’ miracle the world didn’t end – that’s good enough for me. I’m going to bed. If I decide I wanna know more, you can fill me in in the morning.” Bobby wheels himself around, heading back down the hall to his bedroom. “And tell that angel of yours to stop lurking around on my porch,” he says over his shoulder. “If he’s here he might as well come in.”

Castiel had waited outside, unsure of his reception, but now the door opens and he slips quietly into the room.

“I’m beat, man. I gotta hit the hay,” Sam says, and indeed, he looks like he’s about to collapse right where he stands.

“Okay, Sammy. I’ll see you in the morning.” Dean pats him on the back, which earns him a tired smile. “Hey,” Dean says. “You did good out there, Sam. You and me - we almost had ‘em.”

“Yeah?” Sam ducks his head, looking for all the world like he’s about thirteen and not a bit like the chosen vessel of the Lord of Hell. “I think I was starting to break through.”

“You were,” Dean confirms. “I’d ‘ve known those puppy-dog eyes anywhere. You should’ve heard what Michael was thinking – the guy was so freaked out.”

Sam grins. “I think, maybe, if there’d been more time…”

The truth is, they both knew that they never would have been able to break through the power holding them down while Michael and Lucifer occupied their bodies, but there’s some comfort in imagining that with just a little more time and effort they’d have managed it.

“Well, the main thing is, we stalled long enough to give Cas the time he needed to bring the big guy back.” Dean thumps Sam on the back again. He kind of wants to hug him, but there's been a lot of hugging lately and Dean will be damned if he goes soft just because there's been an apocalypse.

“Yeah, we did. We saved the world. That’s the important thing.” Sam meets his eyes and there’s this perfect understanding there of all the things they are to each other and all the things they’ve been through, and all the many, many things that no one but the two of them understands. Dean smiles a little and Sam gives him a nod, and then he turns and starts to pull himself slowly up the stairs.

“Goodnight, Sam,” Castiel says. He opens his mouth as if he’s going to say something more, then he seems to think better of it.

“’Night, Cas,” Sam mumbles.

Dean watches him go, wondering if he should be worried that Sam is so tired – or rather, since worrying about Sam is kind of his natural state, just how worried he should be.

“He will recover,” Castiel says. He’s right beside Dean, again with the invasion of personal space, though Dean finds that he doesn’t mind it anymore.

“Yeah, I know.” Now that he’s not behind the wheel, Dean’s more than a little tired himself. He thinks he could probably sleep for a week, and hell, maybe he will.

“So,” Dean says, taking great care to sound casual “You’re gonna be leaving us?”

“While I was waiting outside,” Castiel says, “I received a summons.” Dean says nothing, striving to keep his expression blank. “I must go. Now.”

That gets to him though, and he can’t conceal his surprise. “ _Now?_ ”

“Yes. I am sorry, Dean. I know this is sudden.”

“Ya think? _Jesus_. Sorry,” he adds, at Castiel’s wince.

“The instructions were quite clear. I am needed in Heaven immediately. Delaying even as much as I have so that I may speak with you is – unwise.”

“Back under the thumb again, huh?” Dean says. “You’re gonna miss being your own boss, Cas.”

“I have never been my own boss,” Castiel says quietly, and Dean looks away because he knows that’s true. Cas was always caught in the middle, following Heaven’s orders or taking his cues from Dean.

“I have something for you.” Castiel reaches under his collar, pulls Dean’s necklace over his head and hands it to him. The pendant is warm in Dean’s palm. “Thank you.” He takes Dean’s hand in his and closes his fingers around it.

“It worked, huh?”

“Yes, it was most helpful. If not for the pendant, we would not have known I was close enough for you and Sam to risk… doing what you did.”

“You should keep it,” Dean says, holding it back out to Castiel. “To remember me by.”

“Where I am going, I cannot take it. And anyway, I do not need a pendant to remember you by, Dean.” Castiel’s hand is still around his. Dean doesn’t want him to let go.

“You found God, Cas,” Dean says, and he lets all the admiration he feels show in his voice and in the way he’s looking at Cas. “And you brought him back and you saved the world. I’m so goddamned proud of you.”

A pained look crosses Castiel’s face, possibly because of Dean’s blasphemy, but possibly not. He stares at their entwined hands, forehead creased. “I did not know,” he says, so softly that Dean has to lean closer to hear him. “When I came to you that first time – when you summoned me – I did not know that it would be like this. I did not know then the things that were in store for us. If I had, I think I would have been far less certain. I was very naïve.” He shakes his head, then raises his eyes to Dean’s. “I did not think you had anything to teach me, Dean, but I was so wrong. So wrong.”

“Yeah.” Dean grins ruefully. “You were kind of a dick back then. But it goes both ways, Cas. It really does.”

“I hope you will think of me kindly, from time to time,” Castiel says. “I did not always do right by you, Dean, but I want you to know that I regret that. There are things I would do differently, if we had it to do over again.”

“Well, let’s hope we don’t,” Dean says. “Going through all that again would probably kill me.”

Dean lets go of Castiel’s hand, finally. It was starting to get kind of sweaty. Instead, he tugs on his coat, straightening it, as if Cas is a little kid about to embark upon his first day of school. When he realizes what he’s doing, he stops and his hands fall awkwardly to his sides.

“You’ve been pretty much the only bright spot in the past couple of years,” Dean says, feeling a little dumb, but hell, Cas is leaving and there are some things that just need to be said. “Of course, I’ll think of you kindly.”

He expects Castiel to leave then, but he doesn’t. He stands and looks at Dean with that intense, unwavering stare, only there’s something new there, or maybe it’s not new, maybe it’s been there all along, tamped down under layers of angelic discipline. _Yearning_. Dean feels it too, burning deep inside of him and it hurts because they never had a chance and now they never will and it just fucking sucks.

“Ah, what the hell,” he growls and he grabs Castiel and yanks him forward, wraps his arms around him tight and kisses him. For real, this time, mouths crashing together, open and hungry. His hand on the back of Cas’ neck, holding him where he wants him, the other at the small of his back, slid beneath two layers of coats, pressing against his shirt, the heat of Cas’ body burning into his palm. Castiel kisses him back, hot, eager mouth, but his tongue pushing in almost shyly. Dean meets it with his, coaxes it deeper, teaches it to dance, and Cas moans, his hands on either side of Dean’s face, keeping him from pulling away. Once he’s caught up in it, Cas is fierce and aggressive, working Dean’s mouth open and kissing him ravenously and Dean thinks he could happily burn up in it, turn to cinders and blow away and not mind in the least.

This is what Dean wants. This heat, this power, this knowing and being known. It’s utterly new, like being kissed for the first time. It’s nothing like any other kiss he’s experienced. It’s better. So much better.

They break apart, and Dean’s breathing harshly. He doesn’t want it to end, holds on until Cas takes his wrists and forces him to let go. Cas looks stricken, and Dean opens his mouth and hears himself say the words he’d promised himself he wouldn’t.

“Cas, don’t leave.”

Castiel just takes one step away and then another. “I will always love you, Dean Winchester,” he says, and then he’s gone.

  
**Apocalypse Day, One Year Hence**

It’s taken some time, but by the first anniversary of the apocalypse, a few things have resolved themselves.

Castiel was right when he said that there would be a shift in reality. Dean hadn’t taken him seriously at the time, but the changes are every bit as monumental as Cas hinted they could be.

It turns out that the apocalypse resulted in an adjustment of the laws governing the boundaries of Heaven and Hell, similar to when the European countries formed the EU. Heaven, Earth and Hell were still distinct entities, but travel restrictions had been eased considerably. Now, demons and angels walked the earth, mingling with humans in all kinds of interesting ways. Powers, demonic and angelic, diminished while on Earth, though they did not entirely disappear, and returned to their full potency when the being returned to its realm of origin.

Humans, although ostensibly allowed to visit both the upper and lower realms, were at first hesitant, although eventually secret missions were attempted, reports filed with various governments, military expeditions ordered and quickly rebuffed. Making war on Heaven or Hell proved completely futile.

No one is quite sure why things changed so radically, although Dean suspects it’s God’s idea of a cosmic joke. It’s a pretty good one too, he has to admit.

You’d think that maybe there would still be fighting between the forces of Heaven and Hell, what with angels and demons (and humans) sharing the same space. Instead, there’s a shifting of parameters; with everyone free to take what they want, there’s little reason left to fight.

A number of demons find their vocation in the banking and advertising sectors. Some angels discover they’re well-suited to technological innovation, and another hi-tech boom follows. Surprisingly, a certain percentage of humans find Hell more to their liking than Earth and eventually some major corporations move their operations there, lured by the favorable tax climate and the lack of environmental regulation. Relocating to Heaven is trickier. Like an exclusive gated community, the requirements for residency are extremely stringent.

A couple of months into the PAE, or Post-Apocalyptic Era, Lucifer declares that his days as Ruler of Hell over and that he intends to give living on Earth a try. It’s widely agreed that _someone_ needs to ensure that the wicked are punished, and although maybe it turned out that Lucifer wasn’t all that well-suited to the job, it’s not like devils grow on trees. Finding a replacement isn’t going to be easy.

Fortunately, there’s the global political system from which to draw. The unfettered power wielded by whoever would take up the mantle discarded by the Morningstar proves too tempting to a number of the elite, who throw their names into the ring. Dean and Sam watch the proceedings from Bobby’s, sitting on the couch, drinking beer and making derogatory remarks at the TV while an inter-realm committee of angels, demons and humans questions and pontificates and probes and, after much deliberation and needless grandstanding, announces that the former vice-president of the United States best demonstrates the talents and qualities of a true Lord of the Damned. The result surprises no one – Cheney had been a shoo-in from the start.

Demons and angels are the new rage; images of sexy angels and slutty demons are plastered across billboards and bus ads and magazines, selling everything from cigarettes to pharmaceuticals. Guardian angels aren’t just an abstract construct anymore – you can hire an actual angel to watch over you. Demons replace vampires as the hot new teen obsession. Songs about angels and demons flood the airwaves and the internet, not to mention movies and TV shows. The fad is reflected in fashion and food and interior décor, in the books people read and the cars they drive and the porn they consume.

Then there’s _Supernatural_ , or _The Winchester Gospels_ as it’s become known, the biggest publishing sensation since _Harry Potter_.

And just when Dean thinks his life can’t get any more surreal, of course, it does.

Dean and Sam spend the first Apocalypse Day in Washington DC. There’s a three-day celebration, culminating in the new national holiday, which falls on a Monday, as holidays will, even though the actual anniversary of the apocalypse is on Wednesday. But hey, gotta have that three-day weekend or it’s not a real holiday.

There’s a parade and speeches (fortunately Dean isn’t expected to make any) and fireworks. Dean and Sam are given the Presidential Medal of Honor and for guys who’ve spent their lives scamming and stealing and avoiding paying taxes, Dean guesses they’ve not done so badly.

They’re just there for window-dressing really, shepherded from one event or appearance to the next. Their handlers discover early on that having Dean do the talking is a bad idea, so he’s spared the spotlight. He thinks there was maybe a time when he’d have enjoyed all the attention, not to mention the many opportunities to pick up the hot babes who telegraph their interest his way with a distinct lack of subtlety. It’s too bad that kind of thing has lost its charm, because he’s never seen so many fine women in one place.

He’s just not the guy he used to be, and he’s not sure if he regrets that or not.

The highlight of the trip for Dean comes during a press corps party, and it doesn’t even have anything to do with him. It happens when Helen Thomas tells Sam that if she was just a few years younger, he’d have to watch out. Dean’s not sure how Sam manages to keep from peeing his pants with excitement, the big dork. Still, Dean gets a little misty watching him bent nearly double to get down to Helen’s level and grinning ear to ear, nodding enthusiastically at everything she says.

A year ago, the Sam who could smile like that was gone. The Sam who’d walked out into that motel parking lot to summon Lucifer had been grim and hopeless and determined. He couldn’t have smiled like that to save his soul.

Castiel had brought that Sam back, and he’d brought Dean back and he’d saved the entire world. Sure, Dean and Sam had bought him some time by letting the champions of Heaven and Hell wear them for a while; enough time, just barely. Cas should be here to see this crazy world he saved, Dean thinks. He wonders what he would think of all the fuss. It’s comforting to realize how very little impression any of it would make on him.

“Did you see that?” Sam gushes breathlessly, grabbing Dean’s arm. “Did you see who I was talking to? Dude, that was _Helen Thomas_! Do you know how awesome she is? Did you know she’s covered the White House since the Eisenhower administration?”

“Yeah, Sam, I know who Helen Thomas is,” Dean says, snagging another glass of champagne from a passing waiter, and one for Sam while he’s at it. It’s not that he likes the stuff, but the line at the bar is insane.

“She said she thinks I have a fine mind for journalism.”

“Oh? From here it looked like she was interested in more than your mind. You gotta watch out for those cougars, Sammy.”

“Shut up,” Sam says happily. “You’re just jealous. Ooh, look! Frank Cesno! Would you hold this?” He hands Dean his champagne. “I’m just gonna go and, uh –” And without a backward glance he hurries off in pursuit of another of his geekboy icons.

Dean knocks back both his and Sam’s champagne and decides it’s time to blow this joint. His suit itches and his feet hurt and he’s had enough nodding and smiling for one lifetime. Just this once, he’d told Sam when he’d agreed to accept the President’s invitation, and he was even more firmly determined now that next year’s Apocalypse Day would be spent back home in Lawrence, preferably with the blinds closed and the TV turned off.

He lets Sam know he’s leaving, takes a car back to their hotel, feeling more tired than he’s been in just about a year. The past twelve months have been relatively uneventful, by Winchester standards. Neither he nor Sam had much juice left in them after the apocalypse, and when Castiel left they’d just stayed on at Bobby’s, sleeping long hours and sitting in the living room, staring mindlessly at the TV until, just about the time the Hades Hearings wrapped up, Bobby had told them to find somewhere else to plant their lazy asses besides his sofa.

By mutual consensus they weren’t ready to go back to hunting full time, and they didn’t have anywhere to go, so they decided on the closest thing to home. They rented a beat-up house on a side street in a quiet neighborhood in Lawrence and tried to lay low for a while. Dean got a job bartending and Sam got hired at Barnes & Noble and they didn’t do much of anything until one day they got word of a vengeful spirit down at the train yard. After that, there’d been a few salt and burns, and then a few more, and then they were hunting again, but using their place in Lawrence as a home base this time. Hunting in the PAE was kind of like old times, back when vampires and werewolves and shtrigas were the scariest things out there. Demons just weren’t so much of a problem anymore.

That plan worked fine until _The Winchester Gospels_ went back into print and the media caught up with them and they got really famous, really fast and life got crazy again for a while. They had to quit their jobs and hide out at Bobby’s until the worst of the furor died down.

Dean cringed every time he ran across some article purporting to reveal the intimate details of their lives: _Heroes of the Apocalypse Dean and Sam Winchester: Just ‘Regular Guys’ at Heart!_ ; _Sexy Saviors Dean and Sam Dish on the Apocalypse and Their Favorite Moments of the End Times!_ ; _Are You a Dean Girl or a Sam Girl? Our Readers Weigh In!_ It was probably a good thing that Dean was used to his life being pretty bizarre, although really, fame took bizarre to a whole new level. Being a darling of the media, with his face splashed across every magazine and news show in Creation, felt a little like being caught up in Apocalypse, Part II.

Dean slides the key card into the lock on his hotel room door and sighs heavily as he pushes it open. He hopes he’s tired enough to fall right asleep. On those nights he’s not, he tends to lay awake and think about Castiel and what he might be doing and whether he’ll ever see him again and whether seeing him when he dies would count or would it be too late by then? It’s maudlin and depressing and definitely a lot too chick-like for his comfort level, but he can’t stop himself even though he knows he should.

He feels Castiel before he sees him, just a whisper in his mind. _Hello, Dean_.

It stops him cold, his hand still on the doorknob. For a moment there’s complete stillness. He’d swear his heart stops beating, knows for sure he doesn’t take a breath.

Castiel is standing in the darkened room before the floor-to-ceiling windows, shadows slanting across his face. Even in the dim light Dean can see the familiar straight-backed posture, the outline of the trench coat, the white of his shirt. Then Cas moves forward, into the light cast by the bedside lamp, and Dean can see his face. Cas is staring at him, just the way he used to, as if every atom of his being is focused on Dean, as if he’s looking at him with his entire self, not just his eyes.

“I missed you, Dean.” The sound of Castiel’s voice makes chills wash over Dean’s skin. He hadn’t even realized how much he’d been aching to hear it. He moves forward slowly, overwhelmed by a sense of unreality.

“Cas.” It’s barely even audible, just breath and a tangle of feelings he can’t begin to sort out.

“I have been watching you all evening,” Castiel says. “It was hard to keep my distance.”

Dean’s mouth goes dry and he swallows with difficulty. “Why did you?”

“I thought it best, given the crowds and the attention you were attracting. I knew that my reappearance would come as a – shock.”

“Yeah,” Dean says. “Yeah, you can say that.” He knows he’s staring at Castiel just as intently as Castiel has ever stared at him. He clears his throat. “Didn’t expect to be seeing you again.”

Castiel moves forward, reaching out to Dean, but he takes a step back.

Castiel lets his hand drop. “I am sorry, Dean. I know my departure was abrupt. I’m sorry if that hurt you.”

“It didn’t hurt me,” Dean says, striving to keep it together. The last thing they need is some kind of emo reunion scene. “I always knew you’d go back someday. It wasn't any big deal.”

“ _Dean_ ,” Castiel says, a gentle chastisement packed into that one word. He takes several steps forward and this time Dean holds his ground, until Castiel is standing right in front of him, tilting his head in a manner that's wonderfully familiar. “Do you think I don’t know when you’re not telling the truth?”

“What’re you doing here, Cas?” Dean asks, going on the offensive. “You just stop by to say hello or what? How long before they yank on your leash and you flutter back to Heaven?”

“I am not going back,” Castiel says.

“Wha – what? What d’you mean you’re not going back?”

“The Lord granted all of us free will,” Castiel says. “And so I have chosen to return.”

 _Why did you wait?_ Dean wants to ask. _What kept you away for a whole freakin’ year?_ He won’t let himself ask it though, even though the words are burning in his throat, trying to get out.

“I had obligations, Dean,” Castiel answers, and Dean’s not sure if he’s just really obvious or if Castiel is poking around in his mind. “Duties I needed to attend to. After the apocalypse there was much confusion in the garrison, and indeed, throughout the entire heavenly realm. I was needed at my post.”

“And now?”

“Now my affairs are in order and, at my request, I have been relieved of my duties. I am a free – angel.”

“Free,” Dean says, rolling the word around in his mouth. He guesses he’s free too, even though he hasn’t thought of it that way. He’s pretty used to waiting for the other shoe to drop, and for the past year, that’s what a part of him’s been doing. Waiting for everything to fall apart again.

“You left,” he says. “I figured you weren’t coming back.”

“I know. I didn’t want to give a false impression that I’d return when I wasn’t sure I’d be able to.”

They stand there looking at each other for a moment, silence heavy between them. Cas looks just the same – of course, he looks the same. He’s an angel; he’ll never change. But seeing him… it’s like it’s knocked something loose inside of Dean, something he’s kept locked away for the past year. It feels like he can breathe again, like his lungs are expanding to their full capacity and the blood is rushing through his veins. He feels alive.

And he feels angry and resentful and pissed off and he’s trying not to let it show because he’s not sure he’s got a right to those feelings; not sure Cas has actually done anything to deserve them.

“It’s been a year,” he says, keeping his voice perfectly neutral. He doesn’t even blink, and Cas better not be doing his mind-reading trick or Dean’ll blow a gasket.

“I came as quickly as I could.” Castiel reaches out for him again and this time Dean stands still and lets Cas take his hand and hold it between his own. “You were often in my thoughts when I was away. I gave much consideration to the concept of free will in relation to you, Dean. To what I might… want from you, were I to see you again.”

Dean’s eyes widen at that. He’s suddenly breathing faster, can’t seem to get enough air. He feels his face flush, knows it must be obvious.

“And what do you want from me?” he asks hoarsely.

“ _This_ ,” Castiel says, one hand going to the back of Dean’s head and pulling him forward into a kiss. For a moment, it’s awkward, noses bumping, Dean’s lip getting caught between his and Cas’ teeth, and then they find the right angle and heat blooms through Dean's body at the feel of it, so perfect, as if this is the way they were made to fit together. Cas kisses him like he means it, a bit clumsily but with enough focus and intensity to make up for what he lacks in experience. Dean opens for Cas’ tongue, moans when it touches his, sucks on it and Cas backs him up into that big window, pushes him up against it until there's not a sliver of space between their bodies and Dean can feel him all along his front, warm and hard and –

Dean’s breath stutters as he realizes that Castiel is _hard_. He groans around Cas’ tongue and pulls him closer, cants his hips and rubs against Cas, letting him feel that he’s hard too, wanting Cas to know what he does to him.

Cas grabs his wrists, pins them against the glass on either side of him and there’s no escaping that grip, no possible way Dean could ever get free.

“I thought –” Dean gasps, as Castiel’s leg insinuates itself between his and presses against his erection. “I thought you’d never done this before.”

“I have not,” Cas says, sucking a bruise to the skin beneath Dean’s ear, and all Dean can do is shudder and pant and rock against Cas' thigh.

“Then how do you know –” Dean grunts as Castiel sucks harder, and damn, he’s not going to be able to hide that, and there’s a full schedule of events tomorrow, including a gala at the White House and, _oh fuck_ , as Castiel licks over the bruise and Dean’s body lights up so bright it feels like he’s going to blow a circuit. Oh fuck, he really doesn’t care who sees it or what they think of him.

“I know you,” Cas says simply, blowing lightly over the wet skin and Dean bites his lip, shivering. He tilts his head back, offering, and Cas obliges, tongue sliding over Dean’s Adam’s apple, teeth scraping at the hollow of his throat. “I know what you want,” Castiel says, kissing the words into Dean’s skin. Dean squeezes his eyes shut, his whole body trembling. “You want to be loved. You want to be known. You want someone who will never leave you.”

“But -" Dean hates the way he sounds, voice shaky and vulnerable. "You’ll have to go back eventually, right?”

“No,” Castiel says. “I won’t.” He draws back and his eyes are so clear and certain, so full of love. Nobody else has ever looked at Dean the way Cas does. He thinks maybe no one else has ever really seen him, seen every part of him, good and bad, except Castiel.

Something breaks inside of him, just crumbles away, and he can’t keep up the front any longer. “I can't do this,” he chokes out. “Not if you're gonna leave me again.”

“ _Dean_ ,” Castiel says, more emphatically. “Listen to me. I will never leave you.” His hands are tight around Dean’s wrists and he can’t get loose and he doesn’t even fucking want to, only – only he feels stripped bare, his secrets exposed to the unaccustomed light.

“You can’t mean – You mean –? _Never_?” Dean’s breathing hard, but that broken feeling is draining away. He lets what Castiel is saying sink in, trying to process it.

“I will stay with you always. As long as you want me.”

“I’ll get old.” Dean feels like there’s something he’s missing, some important fact that would make all of this make sense. But maybe that’s crazy. Nothing makes sense anymore, so why should Castiel.

“Yes,” Castiel agrees. “You will.”

“And you won’t.”

“No.”

“But… won’t that be weird?”

Castiel smiles, a tiny quirk of his lips that draws Dean closer.

“No,” Castiel says, quietly and with great certainty. “It won’t be weird. It will be the way it was meant to be.”

“Oh.” Dean thinks maybe it’s a bit beyond him at the moment, the implications of Cas being around for the long haul. It’s a lot to take in, a lot of ramifications and adjustments, and right now he’s pretty stuck on just wanting to get Cas out of his clothes and into bed so he can experience his own personal version of the Rapture.

“Do you see how it is, Dean?” Castiel releases his wrists and takes him in his arms, holding him close, fingers sliding into the hair at the back of Dean’s neck

He leans his forehead against Cas’ shoulder and just breathes for a moment, feeling how their bodies fit together, how Cas’ hands on him feel so right, how standing like this feels more like home than anything in Dean’s memory.

“I think so,” he says, words muffled in Cas’ coat.

Castiel lifts Dean’s face with a thumb beneath his chin, and kisses him again. “Let me show you,” he whispers.

And he does.

  
**Apocalypse Day, Five Years Hence**

“Do you know what today is?” Castiel whispers in Dean’s ear just as he’s waking up. His voice is deep and scratchy, the way it always is first thing in the morning and it does things to Dean to hear it. Dean’s glad that in the new world order, angels need sleep once in while, because otherwise he wouldn’t get to hear Cas’ voice all rough and gravelly when he wakes up. Dean pushes back, ass snug to Castiel’s groin and discovers nice, hard morning wood.

“My birthday?” Dean mumbles, rubbing his ass over Castiel’s cock. “Feels like maybe it’s my birthday.”

“No, Dean, it is not your birthday,” Castiel says, a little hitch in his voice. His hands find Dean’s hips, palms fitting over Dean’s hipbones like they were formed by them, and after all, in a way they were.

“Christmas?” Dean says, voice gone husky as Castiel holds him in place while he slides his dick along Dean’s crack.

“No.”

Dean tries to think, which is difficult with Cas’ hands sliding around to his front and over his belly, so sure, so strong. Dean would never have suspected that he’d have a thing for being with someone stronger than he is, but he’s got to admit, it’s fucking hot to know that Cas could break him if he wanted to.

It can’t be Cas’ birthday, because he doesn’t have one and Dean will be very surprised if Cas has suddenly decided that they need to start celebrating anniversaries.

“Easter?” he tries. He knows it’s not Easter. Easter had been just a few months ago. “Fourth of July? Thanksgiving?”

“Happy Apocalypse Day, Dean,” Castiel says, and bites Dean’s ear.

Dean groans pitifully and buries his face in the pillow. “ _Fuuuck_. How could I forget?”

“I believe only willfully. The ads on television for Apocalypse Day sales make it impossible to ignore.” Castiel’s fingertips dance over Dean’s spine, make their way to the small of his back and pause before heading lower.

“I _hate_ Apocalypse Day,” Dean grumbles.

“I know.” Castiel shifts over him, a warm, heavy weight all along Dean’s back. He presses his hips down, cock nestled between Dean’s cheeks, and it grinds Dean’s erection against the mattress. “Nevertheless, we must put in an appearance.”

Dean groans, a combination of arousal and reluctance at the prospect of attending another round of Apocalypse Day festivities.

“I hate that fucking parade,” he gripes. “And the speeches and the costumes and the stupid halos and horns. I hate all the angel food cake and devil’s food cake that people try to shove down your throat.”

“Yes, Dean.” Dean knows that Cas is just humoring him.

“And I hate that it’s just another amateur night, like Halloween only everyone’s dressed up like angels and demons; no slutty nurses or slutty gypsies or slutty kitty cats.”

“You wish that people dressed as slutty kitty cats for Apocalypse Day?” Cas sounds perplexed, and Dean admits that he’s not making a lot of sense. Apocalypse Day doesn’t bring out the best in him. “Would you want me to dress as a slutty kitty cat?”

“No, Cas, that’s not what I… um. Hunh.” He ponders the idea for a moment. “Maaaybe.”

“Hmm.” Cas sounds unconvinced, but not entirely averse. “I will think about it.”

They’re silent for a moment.

“Apocalypse Day fireworks are nice,” Cas offers.

Dean sighs. “Yeah, okay. The fireworks are nice.”

“I will endeavor to make this Apocalypse Day a good one for you, Dean.” Castiel’s lips are right at his ear, words gusting noisily on air he doesn’t really need to breathe.

“Yeah? How you gonna do that?” Dean rocks his pelvis back into Castiel, then forward against the bed. Castiel licks at the back of his neck, and Dean makes a sound that’s not quite a whimper, tilting his head forward for more. “Well,” Castiel says, between bites and sucking kisses that travel down his neck to his shoulders. “I thought maybe I’d start by licking you open.”

“ _Unnngh_ ,” Dean moans, his hips rising off the bed, his legs inching out wider. He’s never been able to figure out if it’s just Castiel’s voice or the fact that he’s an angel who’s willing to do such sinful things that gets him off more. Probably some pervy combination of the two, but Dean doesn’t care. Cas talking dirty revs his motor harder than just about anything. “Then what?” he demands breathlessly.

“Then I will hold you down.” Castiel speaks slowly and distinctly, letting each word sink in. Dean shivers, imagining it, Cas’ hands around his wrists, or maybe just one hand. Cas can easily keep him in place with one hand. Or maybe no hands, just holding Dean where he wants him with his angel mojo. He’s done that before and it’s crazy good, makes Dean come so fucking hard when he can’t move a muscle without Cas allowing it. “I will hold you in place. Keep you under control.” Dean jerks at that, bucking against Castiel.

“Christ,” he mutters quietly, but of course Castiel hears him.

“If you blaspheme again,” Cas warns, “I will not allow you to come.”

Dean closes his eyes, heat rolling through him in a thick, liquid surge. “It’s not like you ask the impossible or anything,” he grates out.

“It is not impossible,” Cas says. “Just difficult. I have faith in you, Dean.”

Dean doesn’t say anything, because Castiel’s fingers have dipped into his cleft and are caressing him gently. They’re wet – lube or saliva, Dean’s not sure – sliding over sensitive skin, flirting around his rim, one finger gently teasing inside. Dean presses his forehead to the pillow and tries not to whine.

“I’ll put my cock,” Castiel presses in slowly, stroking softly, “ _here_. This is where you want it. Inside, where it feels best.” Castiel sighs, quiet and deep and it makes goosebumps break out all over Dean’s skin. “This is where I like to be. Right - _here_.” He presses against Dean’s prostate and Dean gasps, shaking. His fists close around handfuls of pillow and he holds on while Cas’ fingers do wicked things, things that make him moan and writhe and bite his lip to be sure he doesn’t burst out with the words Cas doesn’t want him to say.

“I love this,” Castiel murmurs, his mouth volcanically hot against Dean’s neck. He rubs his cock against Dean’s buttock and Dean can feel the streak of wetness on his skin.

“ _Cas_.”

“I love you.”

Dean shudders hard, a part of him shying away from that simple declaration, another part of him longing to hear it again.

And maybe Cas is reading his mind, because he says it again. “I love you very much, Dean.” And it’s too much, it always is; Cas with that implacable honesty that makes it impossible to deny the truth of what he’s saying. It still hurts Dean to hear it, but it’s a good hurt, a clean hurt.

“Yeah,” Dean says gruffly. “Me too.”

He pushes Castiel back enough to turn around enough to see him. He’s got bed head, hair sticking up all over the place and his lips are flushed from kissing and he’s got a look on his face that Dean’s come to know well. It’s a look that took some time to develop, but now Castiel wears it with an ease that makes Dean’s heartbeat ratchet up to double-time. It means he’s got all kinds of plans to drive Dean out of his mind, and Dean really kind of loves that look.

Castiel pushes Dean down onto his back and leans up over him, and he smiles. It’s still a sight that makes Dean a little giddy and a little awed; to think that he’d be the cause of making an angel smile.

“C'mere,” he growls, and pulls Castiel down to him.

*

It’s not a bad one, as Apocalypse Days go. Of course, there’s the parade, everyone dressed up as angels or demons or a combination of the two. As has become the tradition, angels wear demon costumes and demons wear long white robes and fake wings. Castiel contents himself with a comparatively dignified set of small red horns, the least one can get away with and not be labeled a spoilsport.

They ride in a red convertible driven by a couple of sexy demons in white satin and lace corsets and garters, sitting side by side and waving at the crowd, tossing candy to the kids. It’d be embarrassing except they’ve been doing it for four years now and at some point it ceased to be an utterly humiliating experience and just became something that they have to do once a year – an unpleasant chore, like getting a physical or paying taxes. It helps to know that somewhere behind them Sam and Lucifer are in the same boat, only their convertible is white and their drivers are angel chicks in red lingerie.

There’s a fair at the park afterwards, with food booths and games and bands and speeches. Castiel and Dean encounter Sam and Lucifer on the way to the podium. Lucifer is wearing a halo.

“Hey, Sam,” Dean says, and Sam grins and claps him on the back.

Dean nods at Lucifer, who gives him a hopeful smile. They’re cordial enough – kind of have to be now that he’s practically Dean’s brother-in-law – but Dean still isn’t really reconciled to the whole thing. Sam and his damned demons. (Technically, of course, Lucifer is an angel, although sometimes Dean has a hard time remembering that). Why can’t the guy have a thing for blonds or Italians or schoolteachers; everybody’s got a type, so why can’t Sam go for something just a bit more normal? But no, Sam always has to play with fire. You’d think, considering his history, he’d steer clear, but then if he played it safe he wouldn’t be Sam.

So demons, that’s Sam’s thing. Before Lucifer there was Crowley. Dean sort of liked Crowley. He was amusing and he had style and he laughed at Dean’s jokes.

Lucifer is altogether too mopey. Which Sam must be able to relate to, because Sam is the most expert moper Dean has ever known. Dean thinks Sam and Lucifer must have some rip-roarin’ times, sitting around moping together.

When Dean imagines what Sam and Lucifer’s home life must be like, he can’t help but picture a never-ending string of chick-flick moments. He’s pretty sure there’s lots of meaningful conversation and soulful looks exchanged. He bets they have pathetic, tearful arguments after which they both walk around with wounded expressions on their faces for days, not speaking to each other. Then there’d be gentle make-up sex peppered with frequent, heartfelt declarations of devotion. Dean gets a little queasy if he thinks about it, so he tries not to.

But then, Sam’s never seemed happier, which makes it hard to hold a grudge against Lucifer. Nevertheless, Dean’s trying.

Castiel, however, has somehow managed to let bygones be bygones when it comes to Lucifer. They even have a standing golf date every other Sunday afternoon. Maybe the fact that Lucifer is family makes Castiel more inclined to forgive. Dean knows how that goes.

“Hello, Castiel,” Lucifer says.

“Hello, Brother.” Castiel raises a hand in greeting. “What news have you of our brethren?”

Lucifer leans in and speaks quietly to Castiel, both of them looking solemn. Dean watches them as they whisper to each other. Looks like very serious angel business, and if there’s one thing Dean’s sure of it’s that he doesn’t want to know about it. Not that it’s necessarily bad news – it’s impossible to tell with those two. They tend to look just as solemn discussing what brand of beer to buy as they do discussing the weight of a human soul. Dean just doesn’t want anything to do with goings-on in Heaven – or in Hell, for that matter.

The four of them stand around while the local dignitaries make speeches, waiting for their cue. Every year, the same thing. They go up on stage and try to look modest and honored while someone recounts the events that made them famous, then they accept some kind of plaque or certificate, shake hands, wave to the crowd, say a few words (it’s Sam’s turn this year) and then they are free to go home, pour themselves a drink and forget about Apocalypse Day until next year.

This year it’s a state representative doing the honors; they had the big trip to DC for the first Apocalypse Day, but here in Lawrence it’s been a steady progression of lesser dignitaries ever since. Dean figures pretty soon it’ll be the Vice Mayor in Charge of Dog Poop Clean-Up, not that he cares. The trappings of government have never meant a thing to him.

Sam leans over and whispers, “We wanna have you guys over for a barbecue afterward.”

Dean snorts. “Don’t tell me, Lucifer’s grilling?”

Sam gives him a _look_. “Yeah. So? It’s better than me doing it.”

Dean has to agree that Sam has a point. Of the four of them, Lucifer is, unsurprisingly, by far the best cook.

“I think we’re just gonna head home, Sam.”

“C’mon, man. We’ve got steaks and corn and potato salad. And we can watch the fireworks from the roof.”

“I don’t know,” Dean says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m pretty tired. All this hoopla really takes it outta a guy.”

“Lucifer made dessert,” Sam says in a wheedling tone that Dean would find really annoying, only he’s distracted because Lucifer’s desserts are legendary and Dean has never been known to be able to resist one.

“What kind of dessert?” he asks cautiously. He’s had enough devil’s- and angel-food cake to last a lifetime.

“Pie,” Sam says, with a smug grin.

Dean chews on the inside of his lip, because, _pie_. He’s wavering and Sam senses it like a shark senses blood in the water.

“ _Cherry pie_.”

“ _Damn_ ”

“C’mon, Dean. He made it for you. He really wants you guys to be friends.” Dean makes a face and Sam sighs. “ _I_ really want you guys to be friends.”

Dean looks up into Sam’s earnest face, his pleading eyes, then beyond him to Lucifer and Castiel, chatting in what passes among angels as an animated and relaxed manner.

Castiel will want to go and Sam wants them there and Lucifer made him _pie_ , so Dean surrenders to the inevitable. “All right, we’ll come.”

“Great!” Sam exclaims and he looks so happy that for a moment Dean thinks he’s going to hug him, so he takes a step back. People are watching them – people with cameras – and he really doesn’t want to see a moment of brotherly affection plastered all over the internet.

“We’ll bring beer,” Dean says.

“No need, we’ve got plenty.”

“We’ll bring beer,” Dean insists. “I can’t drink that hoppy shit you like.”

Sam and Lucifer have become beer snobs. They frequent brewpubs and pack their refrigerator with bottles of strong, bitter microbrews that Dean thinks taste like ass.

“Sure thing, Dean,” Sam agrees easily. “Whatever. Just show up.”

They get the high sign from a guy in a suit with a clipboard and a headset, so all four of them go to line up beside the stage.

“Remind me why we do this,” Dean sighs.

“As a public service?” Sam doesn’t sound very convinced.

“And here they are, your Heroes of the Apocalypse!” Congressman Whathisname booms into the microphone over the sound of thunderous applause, shouting and whistling. “Dean Winchester! Sam Winchester! Caaaastiel! Aaaaand, Lucifer!”

Sam shakes his head and shoots Dean a commiserating look, one that clearly says, _Can you believe this is what our lives have become?_

 _No_ , Dean thinks, _I can’t_ , and he plasters on a smile and bounds up the stairs and onto the stage.

  


**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic of] Apocalypse Day](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5699017) by [exmanhater](https://archiveofourown.org/users/exmanhater/pseuds/exmanhater)




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